


No Replacing What We've Lost

by AngelQueen



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1801, 1802, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Double Drabbles, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26564218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: Five stages, five people. A journey of grief.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Theodosia Burr Alston/Philip Hamilton
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	No Replacing What We've Lost

* * *

**DENIAL**

* * *

**[December 1801]**

Angelica asks every day why Philip hasn’t come home from school. It’s Christmastime – surely they can’t hold him at school during the holiday! 

Her parents have no answers, just keep saying that he isn’t coming home. It’s on Christmas Eve when Angelica storms at the injustice of Philip’s absence, demanding that Philip be brought home _this instant_. She knows it’s wrong to yell and stomp about, but she just can’t help it. 

She expects to be scolded, told to go to her room until she can behave like a lady. Instead, Angelica is met by a great flood of tears from her mother. Papa’s eyes dart between Angelica and Mama, and he reaches out to touch Mama’s shoulder. She shrinks from him, though, and flees the room. Papa watches her go, and then shuffles off to his study, his head bowed.

Philip will surely come home tomorrow, Angelica decides as she turns to her attention to her piano, ignoring Alex’s heated glare. She can’t help but feel angry at Philip for being so much of a troublemaker as to distress their parents like this. He must have done something terrible for him to be kept away like this.

* * *

**ANGER**

* * *

**[February 1802]**

The graveyard is snow-covered, a white sheen disturbed only by the footprints of other visitors. Alex follows the path forged by his predecessors, stopping at a familiar spot.

There is no headstone marking Philip’s grave. The church refused to allow one. “Dueling is a mortal sin,” the bishop had said, glaring down his nose at Mama and Papa as though _they_ were somehow responsible.

Alex thinks he’ll remember the choked sound Mama made for the rest of his life. 

Staring at the ground, he thinks of the misery that awaits him at home – Mama all but bedridden on the doctor’s orders, Papa perpetually grey with grief and guilt, his siblings completely shattered.

“You ass.” The words burst of him like a canon strike. “Everyone said you were so smart, so how could you be so _stupid_?”

Alex remembers Philip once calling duels honorable. “What honor is there in any of this?” he demands. “Mama might lose the baby because of you! You were selfish!”

Selfish, like Papa, who chose to lay their family on the altar of public humiliation to save his political career.

Selfish, like Alex, who would still give _anything_ to have his stupid brother back.

* * *

**BARGAINING**

* * *

**[March 1802]**

The church is empty save himself. The late afternoon sun pours through the stained-glass windows, casting the chapel in a vast array of colors. 

Alexander has been here for hours, having arrived at the church on one of his walks through the city. The doors had been left unlocked, open for any wretched creature in need of God’s solace.

Alexander supposes he qualifies. He’s certainly wretched enough.

He stares at the cross up above the pulpit. _Take me,_ he pleads. _Take me instead. Give my boy back. You can have me._

He’s been making that same plea for weeks. God has yet to answer him.

_Please._

Still nothing. He stands, shuffles wearily out of the chapel.

When Alexander arrives home, the house is nearly dark. Candlelight illuminates the parlor, and Alexander peers inside. Eliza sits on the sofa, her mending basket beside her. She begins pushing herself up. He steps forward to help her, but stops when she casts the same cold glare she’s had since _that day_ at him. 

She rights herself, and then slowly walks past him toward the stairs. Alexander watches her go, and bows his head in defeat. He’d give anything to reach her.

* * *

**DEPRESSION**

* * *

**[April 1802]**

Theodosia’s wedding dress is a deep grey, embroidered with spring flowers. “Married in grey, you will go far away,” one of her bridesmaids teases. “Perhaps not just to the Carolinas, Theo? Will you and Mr. Alston go on adventures together?”[1]

She smiles, because that is what brides do on their wedding day. “We shall see, won’t we?”

The women fuss over her hair, her dress, and Theodosia’s eyes wander to the window. The sky is a bright, pale blue. Suddenly, she recalls a blue handkerchief given by a young man of fiery, impulsive temper. She remembers a bolt of blue silk that she once considered purchasing, with a different hope in her heart. 

_Married in blue, you’ve chosen true._

But Theodosia didn’t buy the silk, and that young man is gone, destroyed by his own recklessness. She chose another man, one who seeks a political alliance with her father, and who in turn will be a financial help to him. 

Theodosia loves her father above any and all in this world, and will do anything to help him. But if she occasionally clutches a blue handkerchief with uncommon attachment, that is her own affair. 

Nobody needs to know.

* * *

**ACCEPTANCE**

* * *

**[June 1802]**

Eliza doesn’t know her baby’s birthday. He was born late in the night, or early in the morning. No one thought to mark whether he’d been born before or after midnight.[2]

She stares at the babe, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. He has no idea that he’s been born into a family that has just begun to mend itself. 

Alexander appears behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. Eliza leans against him. It’s a sign of how far they’ve come that she welcomes his touch.

“He still needs a name,” Alexander murmurs.

They had discussed names early on, before… 

Margarita for a girl, they’d decided. “The Hamilton Sisters!” Alexander had laughed. They’d not had time to settle on a boy’s name. 

Eliza continues to stare at her son. _You’ve been born just as our nation’s come of age, dear one,_ she thinks. _Your brother should have been here to welcome you._

Philip had loved all of his siblings, and would have loved him too. 

“Philip.” The name slips from her lips before the thought even completely forms in her mind.

Alexander blinks, shocked at the idea. He cocks his head, considering it. Slowly, he smiles.

“Philip.”

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Historically, Theodosia Burr married Joseph Alston in 1801 (though I couldn’t find out exactly when in 1801), but I pushed it back a year for the sake of the story. If LMM can fudge the timeline a little, so can I. ;)
> 
> [2] There are differing accounts about whether Philip Hamilton II was born on June 1st or June 2nd. His son cites June 2nd, but both his gravestone and his obituary give June 1st. It’s likely that one or the other is a misprint, but I couldn’t resist having the confusion stem back all the way to the man’s birth.


End file.
